Exchanging Blows
by beanfics
Summary: The TRUE story of how Robert Garcia became part of the Sakazaki family. Pre-KoF. Starring: A rich kid, a poor kid, a cute sister, two overbearing fathers and a couple of big-time criminals. It's sure to be a wild ride. Chapter 3: Gohan or Go Home is coming soon, prepare your stomachs. (T For Teen stuffs) [Please Review!]
1. Chapter 1 - Summer Camp (kinda)

**Chapter 1 – Summer Camp (kinda)**

* * *

 _AN: This dialogue is translated in English from the original Italian for your convenience~_

"America."

"Huh?" Robert Garcia looked up at his father in confusion. He never talked at the dinner table. Each meal in the Garcia household consisted of about forty-five minutes of the two sitting at opposite ends of the long table, poking at their food and not making eye contact, let alone speaking. It had always been that way, ever since Mother had been hospitalised.

"I said, America," Alberto Garcia intoned. "That is the solution to your problems, Robert. America."

"I wasn't aware I had any problems, Father." It was true – at least in Robert's eyes. He was a straight A student, reasonably athletic and certainly not stuck-up or spoilt like some of his rich peers. If he could be faulted for laziness, it was only because he was so good at everything he did and barely had to apply effort at all. But apparently ol' Berto felt differently.

"You are not well-rounded, boy. You are lacking something critical." Alberto breathed through his nose, his moustache twitching slightly.

"Critical?"

"Do not repeat what I have said if you have nothing intelligent to add, boy. You will listen." Alberto's sternness had increased in recent months, Robert noticed. The smiling face of Garcia Corporation was gone, replaced by a wooden-hearted businessman. "You are undisciplined and untrained, lacking in moral fiber and needing of a firm, steady hand to guide you on the right path. That is where America comes in."

"Isn't America the land of freedom though? Doesn't sound like the best place for a steady hand-"

"DO NOT BE SMART WITH ME!" Alberto stood up, hands on the table. "You are going to America tomorrow, flying to Southtown via New York on the earliest flight. You need a _special_ education."

"But it's summer!" Robert exclaimed.

"Best time for it, won't interfere with your schooling. I have an old friend who will take you in for the summer, don't worry. Have your bags packed within two hours, and make sure you bring your school books too – keep up your pattern of study." With that, Alberto turned on his heel and left the room, leaving his stricken son alone with two plates of barely eaten spaghetti and meatballs.

"I'm not going!" Robert shouted to his father's disappearing form.

"Yes you are!" came the reply.

* * *

 _Yes I am,_ thought Robert sourly as the plane took off. It would be a long flight. Rome to New York to Southtown, leaving behind Italy's shores not for the first time, but definitely for the longest time in his life. He sighed, relaxing in his first-class seat. It wouldn't be so bad, he tried to assure himself, staying with some rich friend of Father's. Just a change of scenery. Plus, American girls. That was always a bonus. His wallet was full and his personal stocks were raking in enough money for more than enough refills. This would be _fun_.

"Martini?" asked a petite and beautiful stewardess from beside him.

Robert flashed his most winning smile. "Don't mind if I do." After landing in the US the drinking age would be 21, and Robert wanted to enjoy himself before going dry for three months. "Make that two. One for me, one for you."

Robert winked, and the stewardess blushed. Oh yes. It was going to be fun.

* * *

 _AN: Translation is no longer required, as English is spoken from hereon out. Mostly. Luckily Robert is fluent. There's no way this author is writing broken English for any great length of time._

New York was just a quick hour at the airport waiting for the connecting flight. Robert didn't care – he'd seen it all before. He'd never been to Southtown though. He'd heard that it was a dry dustbowl of a town, out in the desert, and a fairly unpleasant place. However, he was going for education, so presumably he'd be inside surrounded by books and air conditioning rather than outside in the heat. Not too bad, not at all.

Stepping out of Southtown Domestic Airport and into the American summer heat was like walking into a solid wall. It was far from the balmy days of Mediterranean Italy, less subtle warmth and more blazing sun. Robert looked around for the limousine – he was assuming there would be one – and was surprised not to find one. The parking lot was busy, but nobody of Father's persuasion was about that Robert could see. _Father said Sakazaki was the name. That means Japanese. Look for Japanese people…_

Suddenly Robert caught sight of a large man waving a sign that read "Garcia." He didn't appear to be Japanese, rich-looking, or the kind of man who Father would associate himself with, but Robert was careful not to judge books by their covers. His skin was dark, he wore a bushy beard and unkempt hair, and he was dressed in some kind of martial arts outfit, complete with black belt.

Tentatively, Robert approached him. He was standing in front of a beaten pick-up truck, definitely not a limo. Odd. "A-are you Mister-" he paused, remembering how formal the rich Japanese could be, and started again. "Are you Sakazaki-san?"

The man laughed, a deep belly rumble. "No, no. Old Takuma can't be here. I'm Marco Rodriguez, Takuma's disciple."

 _Disciple? Takuma? What kind of businessman is this guy?_ Shrugging, Robert got into the truck. Rodriguez didn't open the door for him. This was odd. Something was not quite right, and it was nagging the Garcia heir.

As they pulled out of the park and set out down the street, Robert glimpsed the city center with its penthouses and skyscrapers. It seemed though, that they weren't going that way, instead making their way downtown. Little Esaka, the district that they ended up in was called, but it was far away from the modern, techy, hip Esaka in Japan. Little Esaka was dirty, old-style and definitely not rich. Rodriguez waved to people in the street, and some waved back. Others bared teeth, some showed knives. The American girls which Robert was so looking forward to were nowhere to be seen. He sighed, wondering what kind of mess he had stumbled into. Obviously Father had made some kind of mistake, or maybe his secretary. Called the wrong Sakazaki, or something like that.

"Alrighty! This is the place!" Rodriguez had stopped the car in front of a run-down old building with Japanese characters on the windows and above the door. Nobody was to be seen inside, and Robert didn't know enough written Japanese to translate the writings. Rodriguez noticed his puzzlement. "Sakazaki's Kyokugen Dojo," he translated. "Kyokugen means _Extreme Utmost Limit Way of the Empty Hand._ Bit of a mouthful, that. This is your home for a bit, Robert. Takuma told me everything-"

"Wait, so you mean there wasn't a mistake? I actually am staying here?"

"Yep," the South American smiled. "Now hop on out, I got more errands to run." Rodriguez barely waited for Robert to exit the vehicle before departing in a cloud of smoke, leaving the Italian alone in front of the old dojo, with more bags to carry than he'd ever lifted before.

"Well," he said out loud, though nobody was around except an old woman shuffling along on the other side of the street. "This _is_ unexpected, but I'm sure it'll all get sorted out. I'll just call father and – _what's_ _that_?"

Through the window, Robert thought he saw some form of movement, but it was hard to tell. The place was dark, dingy and cobwebbed, he could tell that much, and hardly fit for human habitation. Nervously, worriedly, Robert pushed on the door, only to find that it was unlocked. An open door in a neighborhood like this? The owner had to be mad – that, or scary enough to ward off villains with the mere breath of his name. Robert didn't know which he'd prefer.

"Hello?" Robert asked to the air as he crossed the threshold. "Anyone home?" It was definitely a dojo. Punching bags were strung up and there were mats on the floor. Nobody was training though – the room had only one other inhabitant besides the spiders. And it wasn't a person. It was a bowl of noodles, sitting on the floor in between where the concrete floor ended and the mats began.

Robert squatted down to regard the misplaced bowl of noodles and watery soup, dropping his multiple bags on the floor. There was a note beside it, unmoving in the still air. It read:

TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES AND EAT. T.

Robert sat down, and removed his Armani loafers, already covered in dust. Then he picked up the bowl. The noodles looked at him. He looked at the noodles. _There aren't that many of them,_ he thought. _I can do this. Even though it's not spaghetti._ Robert took the chopsticks that were found beside the bowl, and began to eat.

Immediately, the taste hit him, or rather the lack of taste. It was soba, a bland food by most accounts, but this had to be the blandest thing that Robert had ever eaten. It was a floury and tasteless mess of stringy noodles, and they were a lot more dense than they looked. Robert's refined stomach felt sick at the mere thought of making it through this… whatever it was.

But he continued on, pushing himself to fit more and more of the noodles in his mouth. He chewed, he swallowed. Chew, swallow, chew. It really was a workout for the mouth. As he finished his soba in silence and solitude, Robert couldn't help feeling that somebody was watching, waiting.

Robert looked down at his bowl. There was only a single noodle left. Slowly but surely, he lifted it to his mouth, glanced fearfully around the room, and ate it.

Suddenly there was a rush of air, and the lights all came on. _Wha-_ Robert stood up and looked around him, but there was nobody to be seen. _Then who turned on the lights?_ The answer was to be found in the form of a rather short, stout Japanese man who had appeared behind Robert's back unannounced and without making a sound.

"Hmph! This is what Alberto sends me? A stripling lad who can barely even finish off a bowl of soba? You! You're nothing but a rich little princeling." The man spoke in perfect English, prodding at Robert's arms, chest, abdominal region. "Bah! Not bad I suppose. Needs work. Hrmmm."

The strange man stepped back and looked at Robert from a distance, like a sculptor appraising a not-quite-finished model. "HIYAAA!" The stranger punched hard and fast, aiming for Robert's head. Robert ducked without thinking – this was probably a test to see if he was courageous or whatever, but he didn't want to ruin his finely shaped nose just to impress a backwards old man in a karate dojo.

Surprisingly, the man smiled. "Good. You pass the first test. Kyokugen is a deadly martial art, and can only be practiced by those whose mind is focused on self-defense. You are already halfway there." The man bowed. "My name is Takuma Sakazaki, however from here on you will address me as Sensei, no matter how well your father knows me. NOW BOW BACK, DAMMIT!"

Robert did so, making sure to go down as low as possible, and then returned to his standing position. "Wait," he said. "Since when am I practicing karate?"

"Since just now. It's your special education. And not just that – you'll learn cooking, cleaning, construction, Japanese, and most importantly how to get along with people." Takuma began to stride towards the double door at the end of the dojo, presumably leading to wherever he lived.

"I have friends!"

"Not real ones," Takuma sighed softly. "Come along with me. I'll show you your room."

For the second time today, Robert noticed that nobody was carrying his bags for him. Sighing, he hefted the big objects and began to follow his new master.

* * *

 **How's that for a first chapter? Please leave your comments, questions, criticism, etc. in the reviews section.**

 **This is my first fic in at least a year, but I feel as if my writing has improved since then. I hope you enjoy the adventures.**

 _ **Next time…**_

 _ **\- Robert meets his bunkmate.  
**_ _ **\- The "American Girls" finally show up  
**_ _ **\- More hot Robert on soba action**_


	2. Chapter 2 - Meet The Sakazakis

**Quick Authors Note (That's what the italic sections marked AN were in the previous chapter, in case anyone was confused). The Sakazakis (and Garcias) in this story are a little different in personality to the ones we know and love, mainly because they are younger and less mature. This is set a while before KoF. Canonically in KoF Robert and Ryo are 24 (23 in '94) and Yuri is 20 (19 in AoF). I have played around a little with ages for the purposes of this fic, as you will see in this chapter, but it doesn't really affect the story that much.**

 **Also before we get started with chapter 2 I just wanted to say thanks to The Weasel Boy for the follow, and I hope you stay with us until the end… if there is an end. Anyway, let's get right back into it.**

 **Chapter 2 – Meet the Sakazakis**

* * *

 _It sure is a relief to be free of those bags, I tell you what._ Robert was spread out on his 'bed', with his clothes in neat little piles beside it. Calling it a bed would be exaggerating though. It was a Japanese style futon, and all the closet space was filled up with identical orange Gi outfits, so Robert's clothes were relegated to the floor.

Someone else had inhabited this room for a fair while – it showed all the signs of being lived in, but Robert saw no sign of the person in question. No diaries, no nametags on anything, just clothes, a few manga books – mostly in Japanese, which was useless, and a pile of wooden bowls in the corner, looking suspiciously similar to the one used to serve the hardcore noodles Robert had choked down earlier.

Mr. Sakazaki – or Sensei, as he insisted on being called, had made no mention of another person living here. Maybe the mystery roommate was another guy whose father had dumped him here for the Takuma-style education. _Father._ Robert had no idea why he had been placed here, and he intended to be leaving as soon as possible. _Right now though, a bit of rest._

No sooner had Robert drifted into sleep than a Gi-clad guy of about his age burst into the room. He was wearing the same orange costume that the closet was full of and he was in a sweat, his blond hair wet with perspiration.

"Woah! You're here already? I wasn't expecting you for another day or two! Jet planes, am I right? Everything's all messy! Oh man, dad's gonna be pissed!"

Robert began to say "I wasn't expecting you at at all," but the stranger dashed out of the room as quickly as he had come in. Robert wondered who he was. He bore no resemblance whatsoever to the karate master Takuma – he was fair where Takuma was dark, tall where Takuma was short, and hyper where Takuma was cool, calm and collected. Perhaps Robert's theory about another poor sod entrusted to Sensei's care was correct.

 _Sensei? I don't really need to call him that, do I? How primitive._ After having his sleep disturbed, Robert didn't very much feel like lying down again. Plus, it was approaching midday and the heat was intensifying. There was no air conditioning in the dojo-house and the lone electric fan in the room only blew sad gusts of already sweltering air around. Robert decided he would explore his temporary home, if only to chart out possible escape routes.

The house was a maze of cramped corridors and the occasional room. The house and dojo were the same building, it just seemed like the house occupied all the spaces that the dojo didn't need. It sure was easy to get lost, and there were no signs anywhere. There were occasional post-it notes stuck to the walls, written on in indecipherable Japanese. Robert wondered what they were for.

He came to the door of the kitchen, in which Takuma was busily preparing some sort of meal. Robert quickly identified it as _soba,_ and moved away as quickly as possible to avoid having to taste or smell any more of the stuff. Down another few corridors he found a pretty dirty bathroom, complete with a dishwasher that was clunking away with various orange and white garments inside.

Robert explored on and on, stumbling upon various unused rooms and cupboards. This house, despite being shabby and poorly furnished, was rather big. In fact, it seemed like it was even _bigger on the inside_ than it looked from the outside. He was quickly becoming lost, and he didn't know if he would ever end up back in his room. And what if he ran into Mr Sweaty Blond again? Robert tried to keep a cool head and not panic, and just keep moving forward.

He closed his eyes and kept his hand on the left-side wall, knowing that if he did that he would sooner or later end up where he started. One foot before the other, then another, then another. _This crazy old house isn't so scary after all,_ he thought to himself. _No, nothing to be worried about here-_

"Um."

There was a voice. An unfamiliar voice. A _female_ voice. Not Sen- _Takuma_ or Sweaty McSweatpants then. Robert focused himself to open his eyes. Nobody was there, all he saw was a room similar to his own, but with a bit more of a personal touch – posters lined the walls and the reading material seemed a little more varied than the blond guy's.

"What are you doing in my bedroom?" This time, the voice was behind him. Quicker than a flash, Robert turned around.

This stranger was definitely related to Takuma. She shared many of his traits – short stature, brown hair and eyes and a tendency to pop up behind people unannounced. It didn't escape Robert that she was also quite attractive.

A weak "Hi," was all he could squeeze out. The girl looked disapprovingly at him with her hands on her hips. She was dressed in martial arts gear too – at least her top half. Under the waist she was wearing the slightly odd combo of tights and a pair of red Converse.

"Hi? Huh? Did you come in to say hi? Or are you high?"

"Uhhh..."

"Well, which one is it? Come on, kid, there's genius at work here and it can't be wasted waiting on the likes of you."

That snapped Robert out of his daze. "Kid? Who are you calling kid? What are you – like twelve or something?"

"Fifteen," the girl replied snappily. "And what are you, huh?"

"Seventeen," Robert replied, knowing that he really didn't look it.

"Ah. Really loving the, uh, faux pre-pubescent look you've got going on. Ya know, the whole scrawny hairless white boy thing. Suits you." She smiled victoriously, confident in her victory in the battle of words.

"Hey, I'm fit. I'm strong too, for my size." Robert tried to make himself look taller and broader. _My time will come soon, I can feel it,_ he pepped himself up internally. _I've even got a bit of leg hair going on. Oh yeah, Robbie, we're going to be BIG._

"Oh really?" The girl looked skeptical. She leaned nonchalantly on the wall, raising an eyebrow. "Wanna test that theory?"

"You mean… Fight?"

"Sure!"

"I- uh… don't wanna hurt you or anything..." Robert answered weakly.

She raised her other eyebrow. "Not scared, are you?"

Robert shrugged. "Alright – don't say I didn't warn you. Back home in Italy they call me Ring King Robbie. There's never been a bout that I've lost."

"That name doesn't even make sense in Italian."

 _Shit. She saw through me. I guess I gotta let my fists do the talking now._ Robert took up an absurd boxing stance, bouncing on his heels with his hands in front of his chest. The brown-haired girl had her legs shoulder-width apart in a decent fighting position, but a little bit off, as if she'd only ever copied other people's styles. Robert didn't know this however, having had a bodyguard since birth and having never been in any kind of fight.

"When you're ready?" she asked, already eying Robert's weak points.

"Ready," Robert replied.

The girl went on offense straight away, pushing Robert towards the wall. He tried to circle round her, but he telegraphed his movements and she cut him off easily. This early into the fight and she was already controlling it. She'd clearly had practice before.

Robert decided to go for the attack – chivalry may have still existed among his wealthy Italian peers back home, but when in Rome… or rather, when in Southtown, do as the Southtownians do. He struck out with a right hook…

...which was easily blocked, and the girl's right fist punched him square in the face, stunning him. Then came a knee to the groin, and finally, crazily, she finished him off with a _butt-attack,_ knocking him onto the futon that was spread out on the floor.

Robert was amazed. He'd just had his ass handed to him by a girl. A younger girl. He was glad Father wasn't here to see this – he'd never live it down.

"Sorry about that," A voice from above said. Robert opened his eyes to see the grinning face of his opponent looking down, extending a helping hand, which he took. She helped him to his feet, clearly stronger than she appeared at first glance.

"Yuri Sakazaki," she introduced herself. "I'm a Kyokugen genius, but don't tell anyone. Dad doesn't like me practicing, so I've been doing it on the sly, in here."

"Ah… Robert Garcia. I'm the, uh, exchange student." He shook her hand. It seemed like the right thing to do, and she smiled a little bit. "And… There was this blond guy? I met him earlier, do you know him?"

"Oh, that's my bro, Ryo. Yeah, I know. Not much of a resemblance. He took after mom."

"Does she live here too?"

Yuri didn't seem to notice his question. "Oh crap, look at the time," she whispered, after catching a glimpse of Robert's watch. "Five to one. Dad expects everyone for lunch in the kitchen at 1pm sharp. You gotta go. I'll catch up, I have to change." Robert vaguely remembered Takuma saying something about lunch, but at the time he was too busy thinking about the monster of a meal he'd just eaten.

Yuri started pushing Robert towards the door, overpowering him easily after his good beating. "What about this massive bruise?" he exclaimed. "And I don't even know where to go, this place is like a maze!"

"Quiet, the walls are paper thin. Slap some of this makeup on – don't worry, I never use the stuff anyway – and take three right turns, then two left turns. Go!" Yuri booted Robert out the door with a red-sneakered foot, slamming the door behind him and leaving the billionaire on the ground once again.

Robert picked himself up. "At least she didn't use her butt that time." He shook his head, bewildered. "Alright, two left, then three right. No. Two right and then three left. Three left and two right? Where the hell do I go?" Robert picked a random direction and ran. Takuma scared him enough the first time they'd met, and he didn't like the idea of making the Kyokugen master angry.

"This day just keeps getting crazier and crazier, huh, Robert? _"_ Some people said talking to yourself was the first sign of insanity. Robert disagreed. For him, being KO'd by a flying gluteus maximus topped the list.

* * *

 **YURI!**

 **She's my favorite character, so I hope I did her justice. We'll see what you readers think – drop a review or face Yuri's butt, it's your choice.**

 **Also, remember Rodriguez from the last chapter? He _is_ actually an SNK character, from Mark of The Wolves, but in the English version he's called Khushnood Butt for some reason. Yeah, Butt. I decided to use his original name on account of all the Yuri butt jokes I'd be making down the track. Hehe, butts.**


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